


The Prison and The Nightmare

by SugarWraith



Category: Guild Wars 2
Genre: Dogs, Emprisonment, Gen, Heart of Thorns, Mind Manipulation, Norn - Freeform, Starvation, Sylvari, unlikely alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarWraith/pseuds/SugarWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pact assault has failed, torn from the sky by the might of the Jungle Dragon. Eir, separated from Destiny’s Edge, finds herself a prisoner alongside the Grand Duchess of the Nightmare Court, Faolain. The pair are forced to treat each other with civility, faced with the greater threat from the Dragon and all his minions. But Faolain’s pride and Eir’s stubbornness make things more complicated than simply awaiting rescue from the Pact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prison of Vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faolain's composure is tested when the Mordrem begin removing her courtiers from the camp. After Eir receives a visitor that rekindles her hope, the pair reluctantly agree to work together and attempt to escape the Mordrem prison.

Eir awoke with a burning thirst that clung to the back of her throat and clawed at her tongue. She pushed her lips together, and dragged the dry tip of her tongue over the cracks in her skin. The air was close, and hot, and it pressed down on her mouth and nose. Eir coughed, and shuddered, and rolled onto her side.

As she opened her eyes, her vision filled with vibrant green. The scent of crushed leaves and thick, bitter sap flooded into her nose and made her head spin. Eir screwed her eyes shut again, and dragged her arms up close around her head.

After a few moments, she lifted her head and rested her cheek on her forearm. She lay on the ground, nestled below the rippled leaves of a gigantic fern. Its fronds arched up and filtered the light, fracturing it into shards of golden yellow and green. The undersides of its leaves were pocked with spores. Thick, brown ridges that stood in relief to the glossy verdant leaves.

Eir reached up and brushed her fingers against the fern. The skin on her left hand was battered and split, and bruises bloomed across the backs of her hands. Dried blood and mud mottled her arms. Eir stared at her hands for a fair few minutes. Then she sighed, and sat up.

Faolain leant with her head against the vine wall of their prison. Her arms wrapped around the vines and she rested her chin in the small gap between the thorns. She sat in sullen silence.

Eir cleared her throat.

“No,” Faolain muttered.

Eir sighed. She pushed a few bedraggled strands of red hair from her forehead. There was no breeze, and the sweat at her hairline stuck to her skin.

Faolain shifted in her seat, her attention fixed on some point in the foliage ahead.

Eir stood and stretched. As she moved, the leather of her breastplate shifted, and peeled from her skin.

“The air feels strange,” Eir said.

Faolain rolled her shoulder. “I can’t tell,” she said.

Eir moved towards the front of the cage and peered out. Thick trunks of jungle trees loomed around them. In the small clearing in front of their prison, Eir could see several more viney cages.

“Are they…?” she began. Her voice cracked, and she paused to massage her throat with her fingers.

Faolain wrinkled her nose and made a tutting sound. “Yes,” she said, “but they’ve taken two more since you… fell asleep.” She curled her lip into a look of disapproval, and dragged her eyes from Eir’s feet to her face.

“Who are they?” Eir asked. She saw the sylvari’s jaw clench as Faolain ground her teeth. “Were you…”

Faolain shot a look of venom across the cage. Eir held her tongue, and fought the desire to sigh. She ran a hand over her forehead again.

“I have to get out of this armour,” Eir muttered, shifting from foot to foot. Her calves were slick with sweat under her boots. She bent to untie them.

Across the clearing, a pair of Mordrem soldiers strode into view. They walked with an assured, leisurely gait that made Faolain stand up and watch them intently.

“Hey, Stegalkin,” she hissed, “they’re back again.”

Eir tugged her shoes off and tossed them across the floor. “It’s just a change of guard,” she replied, digging her toes into the leaves that littered the floor. They were soft, and damp, and Eir sighed through her teeth.

Faolain hissed. “No,” she said, “look!”

Eir watched as the guards began to open a cage. The occupant was a young sylvari. She had pink-tinged skin that stood out in contrast to the murky browns around her. She scurried away from the guards, her arms crossed over her chest.

Faolain watched with a pained look. Her forehead creased and her sharp, cold eyes fixed on the Mordrem. Faolain's fingers tightened around the vine she was holding, and her grey knuckles blossomed into a pale white.

Eir frowned. “They’re, taking her away too?”

“Yet another one,” Faolain spat. “And look at them,” her voice gained a cruel edge and she spoke through her teeth: “They don’t even fight.”

The hairs at the nape of Eir’s neck bristled. “They’re scared,” she offered.

Faolain barked a short, harsh laugh. She shook her head, and turned her back as the young sylvari was lead away.

Eir ran her tongue over her lips, and tasted the tang of salt. She felt lightheaded, and leant heavily against the cage wall.

Faolain crossed her arms tightly and hung her head.

“We need to drink,” Eir breathed. She rubbed her eyes and pulled the heavy braid of her hair off her back.

Faolain sniffed, and ignored her.

Eir cast around at the leaves about the cage. Towards the back, hanging in the shadow of a gnarled tree, Eir could see the pale yellow cups of a pitcher-plant. She moved to the back of the cage and reached up, her fingers brushing the underside of their leaves. She stood on tiptoe. The muscles in her calves started straining, and started to burn.

“Can you help me?” Eir asked, shooting a look of frustration towards Faolain. The Duchess blew air through her nose, and glared.

“You’re like a spoiled child,” Eir snapped. “Don’t you have to drink too?”

Faolain muttered something, but moved towards Eir. She jutted her chin forwards, and narrowed her eyes.

“Lift me, then,” she snapped.

Eir sighed, and looped her arms around Faolain’s waist.

She was heavier than she looked. Eir exhaled heavily as she lifted the Duchess up high enough to reach the plant. The leaves that covered her body felt slick, and leathery, and Eir struggled to keep her grip.

“Good enough?” Faolain asked, dangling a pitcher from its tendril, and wiggling it in front of Eir’s face.

Eir smiled, and let her grasp of Faolain’s waist loosen. The sylvari dropped to the ground, her feet hitting the floor and her knees giving way. Faolain stumbled, and her movements jostled the pitcher. Eir plucked it from her hand.

“Why thank you, Faolain,” she said sweetly.

Faolain darted forwards and snatched at the pitcher. “I got that, it’s mine!” she demanded.

Eir stood tall, several feet above the sylvari. She held the pitcher up and peered into its depths.

A couple of withered leaves stuck to the side of the plant. Eir removed them, snaking her finger into the pitcher. The sides of the plant felt slimy, and slick. Eir grimaced.

Faolain drove her fist against Eir’s arm. “Give it to me,” she demanded.

Eir pursed her lips. “There are flies in here,” she muttered, tipping the pitcher so Faolain could see. The Duchess wrinkled her nose.

Eir watched as an insect flailed against the side of the pitcher. She felt her throat constrict even more.

After a few seconds, Eir took a breath, and lifted the pitcher to her mouth. Faolain watched her with an intense stare.

The water was body-temperature, and thick, and bitter. Eir grimaced, and spat. She shuddered, and retched.

“I can’t do it,” she said. “It tastes… sour.”

Faolain huffed. “Pathetic,” she said, and took the plant from Eir. She downed the remaining water in a few gulps.

“Now, let’s get more,” she said, patting Eir’s arm. Eir dragged the back of her hand over her mouth, and pulled back.

Faolain grit her teeth. “Stegalkin,” she began… and stopped. Her eyes widened as she saw what was behind Eir. She raised a finger, and pointed.

Garm stood outside the cage, his tail flapping from side to side. His ears pricked up when he saw Eir turn to him. His mouth opened, and his pink tongue lolled out over his chin.

Eir inhaled sharply. Her eyes glistened, and she rushed to the bars of the cage. She shoved her hands between the thorns and grasped at Garm’s thick, dark fur. Garm woofed and his hot, smelly breath washed over Eir’s face. She pressed her cheeks against the vines. Garm snuffled his wet nose over her forehead, licked her cheek, and slumped down on his belly by her side. Eir sniffed, and swallowed hard, and knelt with her head bowed for a few minutes.

Faolain tutted. “Where has he been?” she asked.

Eir shrugged, “I thought he was with the others… Zojja, she called to him when…” Eir’s voice faded away, and she pressed her hand over her eyes.

Faolain waited a second, then interjected. “Well?” she said, “What does it know?”

Eir frowned. “Garm’s been through a lot, Faolain.”

Faolain bristled. “We need to know what’s happening out there…”

Eir turned to her and snapped. “He needs a minute!”

Faolain stalked to her side of the cage and sat.

Eir ran her hands over Garm's sides. She felt his ribs, and the fast thrum of his heart. “Garm,” Eir began, “What were you running from?”

Garm yawned, his teeth flashing ivory. He stared out the top of his head. Every so often, he rolled his eyes until they were ringed in white.

Eir bit her lip.

Then in a flash, Garm sprang to his feet. His shoulders bunched up, and his head hung low, and he vibrated with a low, thick growl.

Eir instinctively felt for her bow, but her fingers grasped air. Her toes shifted against the earth, and she held her muscles taut.

“What is it?” she hissed.

Garm flicked his tongue against her arm, and moved with his body low to the ground. He skirted the edge of the cage, and darted off into the undergrowth.

Eir stood and called out, but Garm was gone.

“What was that about?” Faolain asked. Eir could see her unease. She stood with her hands raised, and the leaves on her hair trembled.

Eir’s head snapped around as she scanned the clearing. “It’s them,” she said, pointing through the bars.

As Faolain watched, her silvery eyes grew wider and wider. A group of Mordrem entered the camp and spread out to their posts amongst the trees. From behind them rode in two imposing cavaliers. They straddled their Saurian mounts and steered them with their powerful limbs. Every now and then, their beasts would paw at the ground, or toss their heavily-horned heads. Their claws tore gauges into the soft ground, and their blunt, thick faces knocked hunks of bark from any nearby tree.

Eir cracked her knuckles. “That makes things way more interesting,” she said.

Faolain laughed. “Still convinced we can get out of here?” she said.

Eir set her shoulders and nodded.

Faolain let her mouth fall open. “And them?” she asked, indicating the smaller group of sylvari following behind the guard. They walked with strange, jerky movements. The three of them clasped each other’s arms for support and leant heavily on each other’s shoulders.

A guard lead them to a cage nearby. Faolain watched them intently. As he coaxed the vines up over the entrance, the Mordrem guard turned to Faolain.

“Keep a close eye on your charges, Duchess,” he called. “Things can get a little...disorienting in the jungle…”

Faolain drew herself up tall and snapped back: “What have you done to them?” she barked. “I demand you tell me!”

The guard shook his head, and walked off to rejoin his comrades.

Faolain bunched her hands into fists and pummeled the vines of the cage.

From the prison next to them, one of the sylvari spoke.

“Duchess,” she said in a thin voice. Her words were shaky, and Eir had to listen intently. “Duchess…”

Faolain sucked air into her lungs. Her eyes flashed bright silver in anger. “What happened?” she asked.

“They… didn’t listen,” the sylvari said, “they can’t… listen.”

Faolain shook her head and closed her eyes for a time.

“We should never have come here,” the sylvari said. Her voice grew stronger. “They’re in my head,” she said in a wavering voice. “Can’t you hear them?”

Faolain shook her head. “Don’t listen to them,” she replied, “you must make your heart like a stone!”

The sylvari in the cage clustered together. Their faces turned to Faolain and creased in pain. Faolain held her head high as she continued. “Come,” she said, “stay proud. We cannot be broken by something like this.”

The sylvari wailed, and hung their heads. One by one they lay on the ground and fell silent. Faolain watched them with a strange look on her face.

“I did not escape the yoke of the Pale Tree for my subjects to fall prey to another Tyrant.”

Eir raised her chin. “Then you and I both have a reason to get out of here.”

Faolain paused, and nodded once. “As much as it pains me…” she began, “I’ll accept." She drew her lips into a thin line and watched the guards around her with fierce eyes.


	2. Children of The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An opportunity presents itself, and Faolain strikes out.

Faolain watched the sylvari sleep. In the jungle gloom, her rust orange glow attracted small, glittering insects. They flitted around her head and face. A moth landed behind her ear, twitched its heavy antennae, and waved it’s murky wings. Faolain acted like she couldn’t feel it. Perhaps she didn’t, Eir thought. Her face was impassive, her jaw was set and her silvery eyes fixed on the cage beside theirs.

The jungle was not quiet. Eir heard the sawing and shrieking of beetles, and the thick, deep croaking of toads. They nestled in damp, dripping branches around them and sung to each other.

It was the few hours before dawn. The air was thick with mist. It was what had woken Eir from her pitiful sleep. She tossed and turned as the wet air settled around her, and then resigned herself to getting up. She ran her hands through her russet hair, and wiped the wet and scraps of leaves from her face and armour. Her clothes were sodden; the fur at her shoulders was matted and yellowed. Eir frowned. Something about the damp and the heat had started to stain the fur a deep, rich green. She sighed, and tried to ignore her discomfort.

Faolain shifted her footing, and stretched her ankles. Through the sound of the insects the heard the first few raindrops. The low clouds hanging between the trees shifted in sinister rolls, and disintegrated into torrents of warm rain. The water came down against the paddle shaped leaves and made a drumming sound.

Eir felt her stomach contract. She felt it rumble. She glanced at Faolain, but the sylvari didn’t seem to notice. Eir moved to the edge of the cage and ran her hands over the rubbery leaves. In the gullet of a leaf, the rain gathered in clear, clean pools. Eir drank deeply, and for a few moments it stemmed the hunger pangs.

“Faolain,” she began. “Do you think they’ll feed us today?”

“It’s been three days already,” Faolain muttered. “Why start now?”

Eir let her gaze drop to the floor.

“We can get through this.”

Faolain sucked air through her teeth. “At least they’re able to sleep now…” she conceded.

“Any more thoughts on….?” Eir leant with her back against the vines.

Faolain pursed her lips. “Well?” she demanded, “Why is it always _me_ that has to come up with things?”

Eir frowned. “I told you, I have limited options.”

Faolain uncrossed her arms and waved a hand impatiently. “I have a few things I can try,” she snapped. “Give me time to refine them.”

Eir blew air through her nose. “If I could get a knife…” she began.

Faolain narrowed her eyes and watched Eir from the sharp corner of her eye.

“Have they… said anything?” Eir asked, changing tact.

Faolain’s face fell out of her usual stern look. A small frown still lingered between her eyes, but her mouth was softer.

“Yes,” she began, “A little.”

Eir shifted her gaze to the floor.

“They’re remembering more and more,” Faolain continued, “But… Once the Dragon got inside their minds, they… well...” Faolain balled her hands into fists and turned her back to Eir. The water dripping from the leaves above her hit her shoulders. She shuddered.

Eir felt a bubbling in her gut, and pressed her fist against her stomach. 

“Is there nothing you can do?” Faolain snapped, “I can hear you from here.”

Eir made a tutting sound, but bit back her retort. “I don’t understand,” she began-

“It’s hot enough, and bright enough that I don’t need to eat.” Faolain tipped her chin upwards, her shoulders set defiantly.

Eir rubbed her eye with dirty fingers.

“Try that one just there,” Faolain said, pointing towards a bunch of thick, wrinkled leaves in the shadow at the edge of the cage.

Eir cast around, and eventually saw it: a plant that looked strangely like Burdock, but…

“What is that?” she asked.

“Don’t trust me?” Faolain said with a smile. “The roots taste like… those small candies the children in Lion’s Arch like to give out…” Faolain’s voice trailed off, and she stared out into the rain.

Eir dug her fingers into the warm earth and tugged a handful of thick white tubers from under the plant.

They did indeed taste sweet. Eir blew the soil off them and ate them in large bites. She saved a fat root to one side.

“There’s enough for two,” she offered.

Faolain sighed.

***

The sylvari woke suddenly, and all at once. They lay on their backs and stared wide-eyed at the canopy. They didn’t make a sound.

Eir watched Faolain carefully. The Duchess pushed her arm between the bars and reached across the divide between their prisons. She sent a sharp burst of magic across the gap: it split and morphed into bright, glittering butterflies that shimmered and flitted just above the sylvaris’ faces.

One of the Nightmare Courtiers sat up, and reached for the illusion. He moved with lumbering, jerky movements. When he turned towards Faolain, Eir could see his eyes were glassy and unfocused.  
Faolain set her shoulders. “What do you see?” She demanded.

Eir moved closer, and knelt where she could hear the Courtier speak.

“See?” he murmured, “See what?”

Faolain shifted against the bars, and asked: “Where did you go?”

The sylvari let his mouth fall open ever so slightly and his eyes slid away from Faolain’s face. He muttered something, and pressed his hand over his forehead.

Faolain grit her teeth. Eir reached out and placed a hand on The Duchess’ shoulder. She felt a sharp sting as Faolain batted her hand away.

“Yes, but I need to know what happened.” Faolain took a deep breath: “Where did they take you? How many were there? Can you tell me what they wanted with you?”

Eir frowned, and started to speak: “Faolain, take it-”

Faolain sucked air through her teeth and snapped: “How can I get us out of here if I don’t know what we’re doing here?”

Eir opened her mouth to speak, but the sylvari cut her off:

“The Dragon speaks of our lost brothers and sisters, Duchess Faolain, can you hear them?”

Faolain shifted, and rubbed her forearms with her hands. “No,” she said, “I… don’t.”

The sylvari continued. “They have our mother here,” he said, “She’s waiting for us to come home.” His eyes seemed to focus on something far away, and his face relaxed into a wistful, innocent look that made the hairs on Eir’s neck prickle.

Faolain sprung to her feet and stalked across the cage. She paced back and forth, and muttered under her breath. 

Eir knelt and watched the sylvari. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. She made her voice rich, and low, the way that comforted Garm whenever he was skittish or scared.

The sylvari sniffed, and buried his face in his hands. “I’m so tired,” he began, “So tired, and tired and tired…”

Eir continued: “It’s alright,” she said, “we’re here together, We’ll figure this out.”

Faolain scoffed. Eir turned to her and tutted, shaking her head. “Come on, Faolain,” she said, “give them a break.”

Faolain arched her brow and crossed her arms. 

“Well, I suppose we’re a little further along than before,” she said. Eir was not convinced the tone of Faolain’s voice held anything but contempt. But she let it slide, and turned her attention back to the sylvari. 

The others were starting to stir and shift. A few managed to sit up. 

The rain had slowed to a few heavy drops here and there. Eir tried once or twice to engage the sylvari in conversation, but they just stared about, or muttered words too quiet for Eir to hear. 

Faolain cleared her throat. “Look there,” she said, “Here’s my chance.”

Eir watched as a guard approached the cage. He walked with his head lowered and his eyes fixed on Faolain. A sly grin played across his wide mouth. 

“Good morning,” he said. Faolain narrowed her eyes. 

“What do _you_ want?” she spat.

The guard paused outside the cage. He reached to his side and unsheathed a long, wicked looking dagger. 

Faolain shook her head and glared. “Don’t try any of those pathetic scare tactics on me,” she said, “If I wasn’t in this cage, I’d show you a thing or two…”

The guard waved his hand, and the vines at the door to the cage shivered, and began to pull open. Faolain’s eyes darted to Eir, and held her gaze. 

The guard stepped to one side, bent slightly at the waist, and extended an arm. He held his dagger loosely by his side. 

“Right this way,” he crooned. 

Faolain paused. Eir looked out past the guard, and scanned the camp. 

“No one here for backup?” she joked, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. 

The guard ignored her, his eyes fixed on Faolain. 

The Grand Duchess stood frozen for a second, a twisted smirk blossoming on her lips. Then in a flash, she leapt forwards with her arms outstretched. The air around her shimmered and split into bright fractals and shards of mirror-bright purple and silver. 

Eir was transfixed for all of a few seconds before she sprung into action. She barrelled forwards and shouldered her way out towards the guard. 

He saw them move, and reacted quickly. As Eir came to the exit of the cage, he flung his arm high. The vines whipped and grasped at Eir’s face and neck. She choked, a sharp pain blooming over her chest, and kicked at the air. 

Faolain split into two clones. They matched her in speed and ferocity, and swarmed up towards the guard with bared teeth and fiery eyes. Eir struggled, and felt the vines prick at her skin. Her vision went blurry about the edges, and she pulled her hands up to her face. She dug her fingernails into the vines and tore at their skin. 

Faolain laughed, her clones moving around her. The guard slashed at them with the knife, and drew a line of bright blood over one of their faces. Faolain fell to her knees, Faolain drove her fist into the guard’s cheek, Faolain reached out and twisted the guard’s wrist. Faolain caught the knife. 

She shattered a clone: it exploded in a cacophony of harsh sound and bright light. Eir was dazed, she hung limply as she felt the vines around her neck twitch and spasm. And then she was on the floor again, face down on the ground. 

In the cage next to them, the Courtiers were screaming. Faolain ignored them, summoning another clone. She pulled the clone from her chest, dragging her fingers over her throat and spurning her magic out into the fight. Eir drew a deep breath, and forced herself to her feet. 

The guard was swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused. There were stab wounds on his shoulders and on his arms. 

Faolain cackled. “Come on now!” she goaded, “is that all you’ve got?”

Eir stumbled forwards, raising her fists. She swung, and collided with the guard’s face. He slumped to the ground. 

Faolain laughed again, her head flung back and her teeth glittering. Her clones copied her, and their voices interwove in a hellish melody. 

“I did it!” she boasted, “we’re getting out of here!” 

Eir was panting heavily, her hands on her knees and her head bowed. 

“I’m so dizzy,” she muttered. “Faolain…”

Faolain was already moving off. She darted towards the trees, her bare feet barely touching the ground as she ran. 

Eir stood, and felt the ground tilt. Her head spun, and her vision blurred again. 

“Faolain!”

Faolain, or one of her clones, darted off to the left, and skirted the cages across the camp. From between the cages came the shocked sounds of other Mordrem guards. 

Another Faolain ran to the right, and reached the tree line. She paused, one hand holding the leaves of a fern from her way. She watched the scene in the camp over her shoulder, and crouched in the deep shadows with her body curled as small as possible.

The third Faolain ran back to the cage.

“Come _on_ you fool!” she chided, hissing through her teeth, “Let’s _go_.”

Eir reached for Faolain’s shoulder, but the sylvari stepped away. “You’re ruining this,” she snapped. 

On the ground at their feet, the guard stirred. Across the camp, several other guards came into view. Faolain was fighting one of them, driving sharp shards of magic into their face and neck. Blood sprang from their wounds. Two guards swarmed her, and grasped at her arms and legs and carried her bodily towards the cage. 

The Faolain with Eir sucked air through her teeth. “Not good,” she murmured. “We should make a run for it.”

Eir felt something bit into her ankle, and jumped back in pain. The guard on the floor had awoken, and had driven a sharp stone against her ankle bone. The pain spread up her shin, and Eir called out in shock. 

Faolain raised her foot and drove it down against the back of the guard’s neck. He collapsed for a moment, then started to push himself to his feet. 

The other guards reached the cage and paused. Faolain could see their eyes flick between the Faolain they were holding, and the one outside the cage. In those few seconds, she decided. Faolain darted backwards into the cage, and pulled Eir behind her. The Faolain held captive shattered, and drove the two guards back to their knees beside their comrade. 

“Dammit,” Faolain hissed. “I almost had it.”

“I’m...sorry,” Eir began. Her chest hitched, and she started to cough. Her throat burned, and her skin was tender where the vines had nicked her skin. 

Faolain glared. One of the guards started closing the cage again, whilst the other helped the wounded guard to his feet. 

The injured moved away from the cage, but one guard remained. She stood a head taller than Faolain, and regarded The Duchess with bright green eyes. 

“Having fun?” she said. Her voice was rough, and her words rolled over each other like stones. 

Faolain’s face split into a wry smile. “Aren’t you?”

The guard grinned. “You’re not going to try anything else, now, are you?”

Faolain grit her teeth, Eir could see her jaw tense, and then relax. 

“What’s the little voice in your head telling you?” Faolain teased.

The guard raised her chin, and watched Faolain with a look of pure venom. 

“You can’t hold out forever,” she said. “Even the norn is beginning to falter.”

Faolain tipped her chin and held her hands on her hips. 

“Try me,” she hissed.


	3. The Friend Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faolain refuses to give up. She decides the best way to bolster Eir's morale would be to reveal a few key elements of her plan.

Eir curled into a ball on the floor and shuffled against the bars of the cage. She screwed her eyes up tight. Her hands were cupped around her neck; the vines had left angry red lines across her skin. Her throat felt swollen, and she struggled to breathe. Eir pressed the very tips of her fingers against her jaw, and felt the thrum of her heartbeat.

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. They hung on her lashes like beads of hot glass. Eir’s mind was filled with the stabbing pains in her stomach, and the low, dull ache of her wounds. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and wrapped her arms tight around her shoulders.

Faolain was livid. She paced back and forth, and struck at the cage. She trampled plants under her feet and stained her soles yellow. She spat between the bars at any guard who came too close, and bared her teeth, and glared.

Some time after her failed escape, she came to stand over Eir with a steel glint in her eyes. Her shadow flooded over the norn. It stretched up in shadowy spires against the foliage around them. The shadows of her branching hair looked like a diadem of thorns against the thick, emerald leaves.

“Get up,” she said, pushing her toe against Eir’s elbow. Her mouth curled downwards at the corners.

Eir stirred, and opened her eyes. She stared into the middle distance.

“Get up, you worthless girl,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. 

Eir swallowed; it felt like she had dined on brambles. Faolain crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

“Next time, I _will_ leave you behind.”

Eir dragged the back of her hand over her forehead. Faolain noticed the way her fingers shook and trembled ever so slightly.

The Sylvari pursed her lips: “I’m not giving up on this,” she snapped. “So get up and help, or by thorns I will do this on my own!”

Eir shifted, and sat up. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her knees.

Faolain made a noise in the back of her throat, and balled her hands into fists at her sides. She muttered something, and stalked off.

Eir tipped her head and stared at the ground. A fat, black beetle walked along the edge of a leaf. Its weight made the plant dip and bow until the tip touched the ground. The bug slipped off onto its back. It’s sharp legs kicked at the air, and it twitched and slid on the curve of its carapace.

“Look here,” Faolain said. She knelt by Eir and brought her face in close to her hunched form. “Look what I got.” Her eyes darted towards the guards. Satisfied they could not see, she reached beneath the leaves of her armour and withdrew the knife. She held it loosely in her long, grey fingers, and the yellowy blade looked wet in the light.

Eir shivered, and rubbed her hands over the goosebumps on her forearms.

“What are you going to do with that?” she tried to say, but the words were mangled by her throat. Faolain raised an eyebrow.

“Well, what do you think?” she said.

Eir’s face creased into a frown. Her russet eyebrows stood out in sharp definition against her pallid skin, and her forehead was glazed with a sheen of sweat.

“I don’t think I’m ready to do this,” she said.

Faolain wrinkled her nose. “Whether you’re ready or not is not the question,” she said scornfully, “I need you to help me, and you’re not even trying!”

Eir pressed her hand over her mouth.

Faolain sighed. “Look,” she said, “I… have something for you.”

Faolain shifted from foot to foot, her eyes flitting over the cage. Eir watched her warily from between the strands of hair that fell over her forehead.

From behind the tree that stood near their prison, Faolain appeared. Her armour was a little torn, and her silver eyes were tired and downcast. She pressed her back against the bark and bowed her head to hide in the shadow of a Philodendron.

Eir’s eyes widened. “What... who?” she said.

Faolain raised her finger and pressed it against her lips. She reached back and beckoned to something out of sight. There came the sound of something moving through the undergrowth. Eir lifted her head. From behind the tree, Garm poked his snout out into the air and sniffed. He moved his face into view. His large ears twitched and spun, and his liquid eyes watched for every movement.

Eir breathed deep. Her lungs ached. “Faolain…” she began.

The Faolain outside the cage hissed, and dragged her hand across her throat. “Shut up!” she growled.

Eir held her breath for a second, and checked the guards. They continued their patrols.

“How did you…?” Eir began, but her voice cracked. She grasped her throat, and fresh tears filled her eyes.

The caged Faolain stood over her and said: “It’s simple really, basic illusion magic.” She examined the nails on her right hand, and brushed a speck of dust from her shoulder.

Eir stared. “So which one...?”

“She is,” the caged Faolain said, pointing to where Faolain hid.

Eir took a breath. “Why?” she managed.

Faolain rolled her eyes. “I was going to make a break for it,” she explained. “But it turns out, this jungle is swarming with… more than just Mordrem.” Something at the edge of her voice put Eir on edge.

Eir frowned. “So you came back… why?”

The Faolain by the tree said: “I found something I knew you’d need,” she said. “I know how… sentimental you norn get about these sorts of things.”

Caged Faolain added: “I had hoped we wouldn’t need any extra help,” she said, “but we both know how that turned out.”

Eir sat paralysed for a second, her hands held frozen in front of her face. Then she let the tears fall.

Caged Faolain sucked air through her teeth, and wandered off across the cage.

Garm shuffled on his belly, and moved to the bars. He shoved his nose between the thorns and licked at Eir’s elbow. His touch filled Eir with comfort. It felt like hot mead flooding her stomach. She breathed deep and felt like the jungle was filling her lungs with the warmth from a hearth fire. She sat with Garm for what seemed like an age, brushing the whorls of dark fur between his eyes. His tail flopped languidly every so often. 

“Thank you Faolain,” Eir said. “I really needed this.”

Faolain outside the cage nodded once, and then turned.

Eir raised her arm: “wait!” she hissed.

Faolain paused.

“What will you do now?” Eir asked. Her voice was tinged with… panic. “You’re not really going to... leave me are you?”

Faolain scoffed. She shook her head, and vanished into the gloomy undergrowth.

The caged Faolain cleared her throat. “So,” she began, “you’ve got your dog, I’ve got my knife. Can we at least talk about our next move?”

Eir took a deep breath, and nodded. She looped her arms through the bars and scooped Garm in a tender embrace. He sat with his chest pressed into the vines, and waited patiently.

The Grand Duchess leant against the vines and crossed her arms. She watched Eir with a faint smile.


	4. The Duchess' Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faolain tells Eir the plan, but Eir is not convinced of its worth. She has doubts that the Duchess is in her right mind.

Garm tipped his head to one side and pricked his ears. 

Eir pushed her heavy hair back from her face, and asked: “How are you keeping that knife without them noticing?” 

Faolain smirked: “They put a lot of faith into these vines of theirs,” she said, “i don’t suppose they watch out for what’s already inside.” 

Eir pulled her mouth into a thin line. “I’m going to need a weapon too,” she said. 

Faolain narrowed her eyes. She tucked the knife away, and pursed her lips. “I don’t think so, somehow,” she muttered. 

“Then why do _you_  get to keep the knife?” 

“Because I was the one to get it,” Faolain snapped. “What did you do? Hold me back is what,” she wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms tight. 

Eir laced her fingers through Garm’s fur. She watched Faolain’s clone from the corner of her eye. 

The illusion was magnificent, but here and there Eir could see the telltale signs that the caged Faolain was a fake. She would walk across the cage, pace back and forth, but always along the exact same path. She leant against the vines, and tapped her toes against the floor. 

Eir’s grip tightened, and Garm licked his nose. He too watched Faolain warily. Eir leant in close and whispered: “What happened out there?” 

Garm hunched his shoulders and hung his head. He flicked his eyes up to stare at Eir, and growled in the back of his throat. 

“What did it look like?” Eir’s face creased into an expression of concern. 

Garm blew hard through his nose. He shuffled his paws. 

“Okay, alright,” Eir soothed him, “That bad, huh?” She noticed the way Garm’s ears swiveled and flicked around at every sound. 

“You don’t… have to stay…” she began. “I’ll be ok, just knowing you’re alright.” 

Garm’s gaze drifted over to Faolain’s clone. 

Faolain pulled a face, and stuck out her tongue. 

“What’s that mutt saying about me now?” she demanded. “I’m stood here waiting to share my plan, and you two…” Faolain pressed her fingers onto her temples: “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to maintain this form?” 

Eir’s mouth twitched, and she glanced at Garm. He blinked. 

Faolain perched cross-legged across from Eir. Eir asked: “How do you manage to speak through her?” 

Faolain lifted her shoulders: “I’ve always been naturally able to manipulate my clones in ways most others cannot.” 

Garm blew a hot breath over Eir’s hand. He hunkered down on his belly and closed his eyes. 

“Can you portal?” 

Faolain tutted, and waved a hand. “Of course not,” she said, “how can I portal to somewhere I'm not standing? Since I can’t get back in, I can’t get _you_ out.” 

Eir grit her teeth. Her throat still hurt, and her hands ached. She said: “Can’t you do something other than clone yourself?” She thought of the illusionists in Hoelbrak, their teeth flashing in the firelight and their hair sparkling as they flitted through the air. “Could you make Garm invisible?” 

Faolain’s clone raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?” she asked. 

Eir took a breath. She looked at Garm. He shuffled the earth between his paws. “I don’t want him to have to go away again,” she murmured. 

Faolain shook her head. 

Eir sighed. “What’s your plan?” 

Faolain cleared her throat. “You’ll have to be the driving force behind it,” she said, “I really need to see something better than last time.” 

Eir rested her elbows on her knees and laced her fingers together. “I was caught off-guard.” Eir said. Her voice hardened. “How was I to know that guard was coming to escort you from the cage?” 

Faolain narrowed her eyes. “Pathetic excuse,” she spat, “I thought you said you were always ready to get out of here.” 

Eir frowned. “I haven’t eaten in… days, Faolain. And neither have you. I’m surprised you’re able to still do magic in your state. It’s starting to show-” 

Faolain cut her off: “Keep your nose out of my business, my health isn't your concern!” 

Eir sat up straighter. Garm sprung up, and looked at her. His ears were held high, and the thick fur along his spine quivered. 

“It is my business,” Eir hissed, “my life is as much in your hands as it is these… these… monsters.” 

Faolain looked affronted, she pulled her head back, and stared with shocked eyes. “Well alright then,” she said tritely, “Let’s get to it.” 

Eir settled. Her shoulders dropped. Garm whimpered. He snuffled the ground with his wet nose, and slunk into the shadows beside the cage. 

“I’m going to glamour myself. My real self,” Faolain began. “I’ll try to open the cage from the outside.” 

Eir pressed her lips together. “Can you do that? Open it, I mean.” 

Faolain set her jaw. “Probably,” she said. “These guards don’t appear to do anything special, and the cages open for them.” 

Eir stared at Faolain for a moment. “They’re Mordrem,” she said. “There’s probably something in their blood that the vines respond to.” 

Faolain sniffed. “Well, perhaps a sylvari could do it as well.” 

Eir frowned. “You think?” 

Faolain’s eyes flashed, and she spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not like most sylvari,” she said. She blew air through her nose, and regained some composure. The leaves on her hair twitched. “I forsook my connection to The Pale Tree long ago,” Faolain explained. “I think, with a little...help… I can trick the vines into thinking I am not a prisoner.” 

Eir set her jaw. “What sort of… help?” she asked. Her forehead creased into a frown and her brow cast a dark shadow over her eyes. 

Faolain exhaled sharply. “I… don’t know yet,” she began, “I… don’t want to say too much.” 

Eir pushed her hand against her forehead. Her thoughts felt like a sluggish, rusted machine. She struggled to find the right words to convey the sensation spreading through her gut. 

“I think, I think…” Faolain stared into the middle distance with glassy eyes. “I think I’m ready.” 

Eir said: “I think you’re underestimating what it might take-” 

Faolain crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders. She stood hunched over, tapping her foot against the ground. “Well, it’s all we’ve got. Worth a try, I guess.” She huffed, and turned her head to stare across the clearing. The guards continued to walk their patrols. 

Eir felt her stomach clench. Her vision went fuzzy and her field of view contracted. A short breath escaped her lips, and she lurched forwards. Faolain's clone turned. 

"Eir?" Faolain frowned. 

Eir tried to stand. She rose to one knee and grasped at the vines beside her. They felt sharp under her fingers. Then there was a whooshing sound in her ears, and she fell and landed on her hip, and hit the ground with both palms. 

Faolain stepped forwards, and waved her hand in front of Eir's face. "Can you hear me?" 

Eir pressed her palms over her eyes. Faolain grasped her shoulders in an iron grip. "Eir?" she said. "What's happening?" 

Eir reeled. The ground tipped, and suddenly she was lying on the ground and staring up at the sky. 

"I don't feel well," she managed to say. 

Faolain stared with wide eyes. "What are you doing?" she hissed, "stop it!" 

Eir flailed an arm, and tried to bat the sylvari away. Faolain avoided her hand, and grabbed her forearm. The norn's wrist was too large for Faolain to hold still, but she dug her nails into Eir's skin. 

Eir recoiled. She held her arm close to her face, as it swam in and out of focus. Faolain had left little crescents of red in her flesh. Eir felt the hot bubbling weight of anger flood through her. 

"How _dare_ you," she growled. 

Faolain snapped her fingers an inch from Eir's nose. "What's happening?" she demanded, "What's wrong?" 

“Get off me.” 

Faolain grit her teeth and glared. “Here you go again,” she hissed. _“Ruining_ things.” 

Eir lurched forwards and grasped Faolain’s hair in her hand. She ground her knuckles against the sylvari’s skull and twisted until she felt the twigs splinter. 

Faolain yelped, and… shimmered. The edges of her clone fractured and  wavered like air in a heatwave. Eir yanked her hand away and stared at her palm. 

Faolain’s clone recoiled, her arms flung wide. Her mouth was open, and her silver eyes rolled. “Don’t… do that…” she managed to say. 

Eir reached out, and dragged her fingers over Faolain’s arm. The clone twitched and flickered.

“You better stop that now!” Faolain’s voice jumped up in pitch. She stared. 

Eir smiled. “Maybe I don’t want to hear your annoying voice any more,” she said, jabbing her hand into Faolain’s torso. 

The clone tried to hit her hands away. Eir barked a short, cold laugh, and jabbed at her again. 

The woozy feeling in her head had not dissipated, and Eir soon felt the ground tilt again. She closed her eyes, and slumped onto her side. “I’m too tired for this,” she muttered. 

Faolain’s clone scurried across the cage and sat hunched in a corner. She stared from Eir to her hands and back to Eir. Her lip trembled. 


	5. The Voice in The Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faolain has hidden herself away, preparing to unleash her plan. Eir, still locked in the cage with the clone, hopes that the Duchess will return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's NaNoWriMo, guys! What does that mean? Well, maybe I'll manage to update more frequently! 
> 
> Also: hello Crow o/ Sorry to keep you waiting. Thanks for your lovely comment!

Faolain unclenched her fists. Her fingers were stiff. She dragged the back of her hand over her dripping nose. The sound of water falling from the canopy had dragged her from her reverie. She sat as still as possible, the small of her back aching with tension. Her vision blurred again, and Faolain let her eyes slide out of focus.

_So?_

Faolain shivered. A small frown formed between her eyebrows. She clasped her hands together and hugged her knees.

_Have you thought about my offer?_

Faolain drew her lips into a thin line.

_No matter, you have time yet…_

“You’re still lying to me,” Faolain muttered through clenched teeth, “I can tell.”

_Lying to you? Why would I need to do that?_

“Because I can see through your pretty words,” she retorted, shoving her forehead against her knees and bringing her arms up over her head. She laced her fingers in her hair, and screwed her eyes shut.

_Nothing is clearer than what I can show you_

“Please,” Faolain pleaded, “I don’t want to see…”

_I don’t understand…_

Faolain drew a shaky breath. “What… why do you change us so much?”

_I don’t do anything to anyone that they don’t want…_

Faolain curled her hands into fists. Sharp little spikes of pain blossomed from her scalp as she snagged her hair.

_You can see that though, can’t you?_

Faolain didn’t respond.

_What is it you really want from me?_

Faolain sniffed. She lifted her head and opened her eyes.

_Tell me, and I’ll deliver._

***

Eir chewed on a fistful of leaves. They tasted bitter, but they made the saliva run in her mouth again.  She welcomed the relief, and only stopped when the sap started to turn her tongue numb.

Garm pushed the dismembered remains of a frog through the bars of the cage. Eir smiled.

“Thank you,” she said warmly, “but you keep it.” she cupped the frog in her hand, scooping up its innards, and held it out to Garm. He snuffed, and licked her fingertips.

“Have you seen her?” she asked.

Garm tipped his head to one side and let his tongue loll out. He panted once or twice.

Eir felt a pressure behind her eyes. Her temple twitched.

“So she’s just… hanging out?” she asked, incredulous.

Garm whimpered, and stretched his front paws away from his body. His back made a long s-shape, and he shook his fur until it stood on end.

“It’s alright,” Eir said. “I’m sure… she’s working on something.”

Eir shot a glance at the clone in the corner of the cage. It sat, hunched, its legs skewed, its head bowed. Eir could see the bars of the vine cage through the tips of it’s hair.

“In another few hours, I think it might…” she looked at Garm. He whimpered.

***

_You learned quickly. No… you always knew. Perhaps a better way of describing what happened to you would be to say… you accepted quickly._

Faolain rubbed her arms with her palms. “I spoke up, when so many of my brothers and sisters blindly swallowed her oppression.”

_And that’s your greatest strength. You lead. I can appreciate the drive to forge a new world order._

“Slaves are slaves, even if you call them soldiers.”

_Perhaps you’re not realising your full potential-_

“And again with this rubbish!” Faolain drover her fist into the ground beside her. “I’ve sat here and listened to you for long enough!”

_We have much to discuss. Much to explore._

“I should have kept ignoring you.”

_Impossible. You’re drawn to me._

Faolain grit her teeth.

_I’m sorry. I only mention because… I waited for so long before you let me speak with you._

Faolain blew air through her nose. “I’ve seen what you do to those of us that _speak with you,_ ” she hissed. “You can’t sway me with your compliments.”

_I know. I’m not here to force you into anything. I only want to help._

Faolain sighed. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I’m so tired,” she murmured to herself. “I want this to be over…”

***

Eir knelt by the clone.

“Faolain,” she said, her voice low. “Can you hear me?”

The clone twitched. “I’m… so… t-tired…” it muttered. “So… tired…. So…”

Eir poked her index finger into the clone’s forehead. It passed through easily, and Eir watched her skin flush ghostly purple.

“Eerie,” she whispered.

Garm jabbed his nose through the cage, and snapped at the clone’s arm. His eyes widened as his snout was engulfed in magic, and he sneezed.

“It’s a poor shadow of her now,” Eir said, resting her head against the vines. “Whatever’s going on out there, I hope she’s almost ready to return.”

Garm yawned.

“No,” Eir admitted, “I’m not sure, but I hope perhaps she’ll stay true to her word…”

Garm ran in a tight circle, then paced along the side of the cage.

“I know boy, I know. My only solace is knowing she can’t make it in the jungle without my help.” Eir smiled a thin smile, and closed her eyes. “Isn’t that right?” she said with a sigh.

Garm snuffed the air.

***

_I take them, because some children only understand what they can see in front of them._

“But they return so… altered,” Faolain said with disgust. “You _break_ them.”

_I open their minds. Perhaps they are strong enough to adapt. Perhaps they are not…_

“You don’t give them a choice,” she continued. “You want to mould them into your ideal, regardless!”

_My_ **_ideal_ ** _is their natural state. The ‘Sylvari’ spawned by that_ **_abhorration_ ** _are nothing but pale shadows of their true form._

Faolain pressed her fingers into her temple. “I… can see that. So compliant, so… tame. So ready to be moulded into perfect citizens…”

_Yes. you understand. You see...._

“What becomes of those who do not adapt?”

_They become part of the jungle, one way or another. In the end, isn’t it all the same?_

“Ugh, stop that pathetic existential twaddle.”

_I digress. We were talking about your plan for escape?_

Faolain shifted onto her knees. She listened to the sounds of the birds overhead, and the whittering of insects.

_There is no one near._

“Good,” she muttered, and tried to stand. Her knees made a creaking sound, and she winced.

_Take your time. The guard will not change for another eighteen minutes._

Faolain tutted. “I hope my clone still has that knife,” she mused. “Now’s the time to pin all my hopes on that norn.”

_You are brave. She will make a formidable enemy._

Faolain paused. She lifted her trembling fingers in front of her face, and willed them steady.

“I am what I am. I am what I _choose_ ,” she said. “I choose to save my brothers and sisters. Anyone in my position would say the same.”

***

The clone stirred. It shimmered. It opened its eyes and blinked once, twice.

Eir sat with her head against the wall, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Her mouth was soft, and slightly open as she slept. Garm stood watch with his ears pricked up. The Mordrem around the prison camp prepared for the change of guard, and he watched them with his hackles bristling. After a while, the guard started walking towards the edge of the camp. Garm stuck his snout through the bars and gave Eir’s elbow a tender lick, then he slunk amongst the undergrowth and followed the Mordrem. He cast a glance over his shoulder as he reached the tree line; the camp was quiet. Garm pressed his ears against his skull, and bounded onwards.


	6. The Beast in The Vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faolain makes her way back to the camp, as Mordremoth continues worming his way into her confidence. Garm heads out to hurry her along.

Garm tracked Faolain’s scent with some difficulty.  The trail was growing cold. Some scent still clung to the undersides of wet fronds and coated the stalks of jewel-bright anthuriums. He hurried onwards.

The undergrowth started to thicken. The leaves around him grew smaller, and denser, and deeper green. Garm paused, and his paws sunk into the rich earth. He breathed deep, drawing in the scents of the jungle. The smell of Maguuma was alien to his palette. It smelled like the rich, verdant tropics of southern Tyria overlaid with the harsh, acidic, burning scent of The Dragon. The air reeked of decay, and explosive growth, fertilised by something rotten and stagnant. Garm’s tongue flicked out to wet his nose again. Faolain’s scent was even weaker here. The rain had coated the leaves around him in a gloss and washed any smell away. Garm pricked his ears and listened closely.

After a moment, he heard something moving. Garm ducked into the shadow behind a heliconia and peered between its bright flowers. There was the sound of footsteps, or claws scraping against wood, and a low, guttural snarl. Between the branches and leaves moved a shadow. Garm flattened his body close to the ground and froze in place. The shape was huge; and moved stealthily through the vegetation. It slunk with languid steps, and held its long, sinewy tail high above the ground behind it. As it passed by, Garm made out its heavily spiked head and hulking shoulders.

Garm whimpered, his voice escaping his clenched jaw and breaking the tense silence. The beast twitched its whip-like tail and paused. Its wide hands grasped the ground and sunk twelve-inch talons into the earth. The vinetooth opened its mouth and hissed.

Garm felt his limbs lock up. The beast was as ferocious as ever, and Garm had no intention of alerting it to his hiding place. He remembered the way it had torn through Faolain’s magic and driven her back to the camp. The way its vicious glowing eyes had pierced her resolve and sent her running. The direwolf hunkered down; his breath left his chest in short little gasps.

The vinetooth lifted its head and looked around. Garm felt exposed, and the fur on his shoulders stood up. The vinetooth took a step, the earth falling from between its claws as it flexed its fingers, and turned to face Garm. The wolf pressed his chin against the ground and flattened his ears. His tail looped under him, and Garm lay perfectly still.

The vinetooth’s eyes passed over Garm, and on to the treeline behind him. It closed its jaw, the lines of wicked teeth snapping together, and let out another snarl. Then it turned and continued on its way.

Garm waited a long while before he moved again. He sniffed the air, and pricked his ears, and tried to make out the vinetooth’s scent amongst the smell of the jungle. It was difficult; something about the beast made it hard to detect, except for the faint smell of wood and must. Garm shuddered.

He headed further from the prison. As he moved, the jungle seemed to awaken with a life of its own. Vines pulsed under the soil, grating against rocks and making the trees tilt and lean. Large colonies of luminescent mushrooms with neon glow flushed gold, and vibrant blue. Garm avoided the fungi, passing under their wide hoods with a nervous glance. A colony of spiders hung suspended from the mushroom’s gills; their spindly legs reached out to Garm as he jogged by.

After a while, Garm noticed Faolain’s scent growing stronger. It curled through the air on the slight breeze. He snuffed the air, and twitched his tail. Garm bounded forwards, his nose brushing the leaves as he passed. He leapt over a tree stump, and ducked under a tree branch, and wormed his way between gnarled and twisted roots.

***

Faolain’s vision narrowed to a few metres ahead of her feet. She walked on unsteady legs, and made halting steps.

_ Steady… _

“Stop pestering me,” she snapped, swinging her arm into the air ahead of her. Her momentum sent her staggering to one side. “Stop touching me!”

_ Easy now…. _

Faolain took a breath and paused, her hands on her knees.

_ Don’t let up… _

“I can’t right now,” Faolain gasped. “My head…” There was no response, but Faolain felt a prickling feeling under her lungs. She tensed her shoulders. “I’m alright,” she said through her teeth, “It’s only a moment’s rest…”

_ Take the lower path, around to the south... _

“Why?”

_ It’s the safer way. _

Faolain pursed her lips. She picked her way over the torn ground.  The yellowy roots of the surrounding trees poked out and dragged their damp, sinewy fingers over Faolain’s feet and ankles.

“What happened here?” she mused.

_ Things needed to change. _

Faolain steadied herself against a branch; the wood felt spongy and soft.

_ I do wonder...What will you do when you get them free? _

Faolain considered her options.

_ I know what you’re afraid of. _

She stopped walking. “You know what is out there, what stopped me leaving before.” Faolain spoke with a hard tinge to her voice. ''I find it hard to believe that there is anything in this jungle that you don’t have your vines sunk into.”

_ Are you suggesting…? _

Faolain contorted her face. “It’s suspicious,” she said.

_ If you want me to help… I’ll help. _

Faolain muttered something under her breath, and started forwards into the jungle. After a while, she came to a pathway beaten into the undergrowth. It stretched forwards and ran alongside a steep cliff. The heat from the high sun beat down over her head and shoulders; there was no overhanging vegetation to block out its rays here.

Ahead, the remains of a giant tree lay cradled in vines and moss. Thick, grassy fronds carpeted its innards, and glossy epiphytes clung to the walls. The split husk of its bark was cracked and broken in places, and the dappled jungle sunlight spilled in.

Faolain paused at the entrance and peered in. The tree tilted downwards, but she couldn’t make out much of the inside. Some way ahead, the exit was a bright circle of sunlight. Faolain sniffed. Something was hiding inside. It smelled slightly silty, like wet leather and moss. The scent was so strong it made her wrinkle her nose.

_ Ah, yes… you’ve made it this far. _

Faolain took a step.

“Stop right there,” a voice said. It was heavily accented, like it rolled the syllables around in its mouth as it spoke.

Faolain arched an eyebrow. “A frog?” she said with condescension.

_ Watch out _

Something in Mordremoth’s voice sounded mildly amused. Faolain rolled her eyes. She lifted her shoulders and raised her hands; her palms sparked and glowed with purple light.

“You’re not Mordrem…” the creature said. Faolain took another step. She could make out a figure, perched high up on the jagged bark. It watched her from under a large hood. After a moment, it started to descend.

“Let me by,” Faolain ordered, “I’ll have nothing to do with you.”

The creature reached the ground and faced Faolain. It was tall enough to  look her in the eyes when it spoke. Their arms and shins were wrapped in thick cloth and fastened with studs, and its splayed feet and large hands were bare. The Itzel clasped a longbow in one hand. The fletchings of a quiver of arrows peeked up over one shoulder.

The Itzel narrowed its large, bulbous eyes and stretched its wide mouth into a very thin line. “You’re not Mordrem…” it said again, “but there’s something about you that worries me... what are you?”

Faolain grit her teeth. “That’s none of your concern,” she said haughtily, “stop wasting my time and let me pass. I have somewhere I need to be.”

The Itzel breathed deep, its tiny nostrils flaring. “No,” it said. Faolain saw its fingers curl more tightly around its bow. “You smell… different to your kind.”

Faolain’s temple twitched.

_ Don’t waste any time, now… _

Faolain shook her head. “Last chance,” she threatened.

The Itzel blinked its liquid eyes. Its translucent eyelids flickered for a second. It reached behind its head and gripped the fletching of an arrow.

Faolain blew hard through her nose, and started down the tree trunk. The Itzel nocked its arrow and raised its bow. “I never miss,” it warned.

Faolain grinned. “I gave you a chance,” she said, darting forwards and sending a spike of magic towards the Itzel. The creature dodged, disappearing in a cloud of black powder. Faolain whipped her head around, scanning the walls and ceiling of the tree for the archer.

An arrow whizzed past her head and buried itself into the bark behind her. Faolain closed her eyes, and summoned a crystalline dome. The sparkling walls shifted and glittered in the light as it arched overhead.

The Itzel fired again. The arrow skittered across the dome,  flying off to one side and burying itself into the earth. It sent clods of dirt into the air. Faolain swayed on her feet.

_ A little too ambitious. _

Faolain stumbled. Her vision swam. She dropped the dome and staggered deeper onto the tree trunk. The cool shadow enveloped her.

“Damn creatures,” Faolain hissed. “Why did I not meet them before?”

_ You’ve been sneaking around another part of the jungle. Despite their aggression, these creatures don’t stray far from their tree… _

As she descended the trunk, the leaves and mulch coating the floor stuck to her feet. She stepped carefully, sliding ever so slightly, and cast a wary eye over her shoulder for the Itzel.

“Where is it?”

_ Watch out! _

The Itzel reappeared. With its back to the entrance, all Faolain could make out was a dark silhouette.  She raised an arm over her face.

“Can’t you do something?” she pleaded. Her eyes stung from the light, and her limbs felt disconnected and loose, like a puppet with slack strings. She continued down the tree, her heart in her throat.

_ It’s only one… _

She frowned, and pulled her mouth into a grimace. “My clone is still taking my focus,” she retorted, but her voice lacked her usual venom.

_ Well, alright then… if you’re sure... _

“Just… get it away from me or something”

She reached the end of the trunk, and stumbled out into the light. Her eyesight blurred, and she ducked her head.

_ Just keep walking _

Behind her, and around her, the jungle floor heaved. From amongst the grass and leaves rose clusters of thick, yellowing vines. They arched up, and burrowed into the dirt. Mounds of earth shifted as the vines sped towards the Itzel.

The Itzel’s eyes widened, and almost bulged from its head. It sprung away as the vines crawled up the trunk and split through the ground. Their grasping, thorny arms waved and clutched and clasped at air as the Itzel watched them from the ceiling.

_ That will make it think twice _

Faolain sighed, and pressed her hand to her forehead. “I’ve been in this jungle for far too long,” she muttered. “I should have gone back the way I came. The way I know.”

Faolain felt Mordremoth’s attention shift elsewhere for a moment. It felt like a weight lifting from her shoulders, or a heavy, hot, stifling fur being pulled from her face. She stopped in her tracks. Mordremoth was tense. She could feel the influence of The Dragon scratching at the edges of her mind.

_ Well, well… _

Faolain turned her head to stare into the vegetation around her.

“What?” she muttered.

_ You’re going to have to pick up the pace if you want your plan to go off without a hitch. Look’s like someone is trying to find you…  _

Faolain frowned.

_ Perhaps the norn is smarter than you give her credit for. Perhaps the norn  _ **_knows_ ** _... _

Faolain screwed her eyes shut, and shook her head. “Whatever,” she retorted, “wolf or not, there’s not much Eir can do inside that cage…”

The Dragon seemed to laugh. It made the nape of her neck prickle and twitch.

_ Perhaps. I can help some more…? _

Faolain clenched her teeth, and started forwards with longer strides.

"Sure," she muttered, "do what you like."


	7. The Dagger Among The Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eir attempts to reach Faolain through the ailing clone, anxious that she return.

Eir’s  eyelids felt heavy, and she dozed in and out of consciousness for a few minutes. The air around her felt warm, and soft, and it cradled her and pushed down on her as she slept. Eir took a shuddering breath, and opened her eyes. She cleared the sleep from her lashes with a grubby finger, and ran her tongue over her sour teeth. 

She watched the clone as it flickered. 

“...hello?” she murmured. The clone’s eyes met hers.

“Eir,” it said, “Garm.” 

Eir felt a jolt above her stomach. She turned to look for her direwolf, but the surrounding undergrowth was still. 

“Yes?” Eir replied, her eyebrows rising and her eyes widening. “He’s around her somewhere.” She added, “at least, I think he is…”

The clone shook its head. As it moved, it shed tiny pink shards of its form into the air. They glittered. 

Eir frowned. “What’s happening to you?”

Faolain’s clone spoke again: “Time… has gone…”

Eir exhaled through her nose. “The guards will notice when a prisoner vanishes,” she warned. 

The clone narrowed it eyes. It shifted, and uncrossed its legs, and clutched at something in its pocket. 

Eir cleared her throat. “Please come back,” she said softly. “We still have a chance if you free me now.”  A bead of sweat ran down from her hairline. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “At least give me the knife,” she asked. 

The clone’s face twisted into a grimace. Its eyes burned under its furrowed brow. “Watch out,” it said in a low, muddy voice, “watch out.”

Eir felt a spark of annoyance burn through her gut. She clenched her jaw, and knelt in front of the clone. 

“Give it to me,” she ordered. 

The clone stuck out its tongue, and it’s face blurred. “Time…” it said. Its voice seemed to echo in its throat.

Eir held out her hand, palm up, and said again: “Now, please give me the knife.”

The clone’s mouth split into a wide, garish grin. Her teeth flashed, and her tongue curled. The clone laughed, and the sound was bright and loud.  The fresh guard coming in from the edge of the camp could surely hear her, and they would come quickly. Eir’s eyes darted around the camp, and counted three- no, four groups of Mordrem patrolling. Her nostrils flared, and her lips turned pale. 

“Give me the knife and I’ll cut through these bars myself!” Eir hissed. “You’re probably never coming back anyway!”

The clone turned its head and faced away from Eir. it wrinkled its nose and screwed its eyes shut tight and made a noise in its throat. 

Eir lunged forwards and grabbed the clone’s clothing. Her fingers scrabbles at the folds of its coat, tearing through the illusion and making it stutter and jump. Her fingers found the cold, hard hilt of the dagger, and Eir grasped it tight. 

The clone sprung up, and drove the palm of its hands across Eir’s mouth. Eir’s head snapped to one side. She pulled her fist from the clone, keeping the knife close to the ground, and raised an arm to shield her face. It bared its teeth and clawed at her arm. The clone’s hands scraped over Eir’s skin, sometimes sinking through her arm until its fingers poked through the other side. It didn’t hurt, but Eir felt a buzzing, crackly sensation. She jerked backwards, and crossed the cage. 

“I have it now,” she said, her eyes bright. “Whatever you were thinking of doing, it’s over.” Eir clasped the dagger close to her chest. “Come back,” she pleaded, “try your plan. Get me out of here, and I’ll get you through the jungle.”

The clone dragged itself to it feet, clinging to the vines of the cage. It stood on crooked legs and watched Eir through narrowed eyes. 

“Try it then…” the clone managed to say. Its voice was weak, and Eir barely heard. “Try getting through the vines… I dare you to… try…”

Eir raised her chin. “How close are you?” she asked, “Are you close?”

The clone laughed. “Close? I don’t know where I am. Circles…” she muttered, “round and round and round in… circles.”

Eir took a deep breath, and held it in her chest. “Come on, Faolain,” she said softly. “You actually have a chance.” she paused, and looked at the ground. “I’m tired, and sick, and you’re no better I know, but you’ve survived out there. You can make it back, I’m sure of it.”

The clone flashed and flickered. “Maybe I won’t make it back,” she said. 

Eir shook her head.

“Maybe… your wolf will make sure of it!”

Eir shook her head again, harder. “If Garm is with you, he’s there to help,” she said. 

“How can I trust you?”

Eir’s forehead creased. “How can  _ I  _ trust  _ you,  _ you mean,” Eir retorted, jabbing her finger into her chest. “Your track record is  _ shameful _ . _ ”  _ Eir clenched her jaw. “Why would  _ anyone _ put their trust in you. Your entire organisation is built upon manipulation and coercion! No,” she paused, her cheeks flushing pink, “anyone who is foolish to put their trust in you is used for your own gain. Some pathetic vendetta-”

Faolain’s clone looked confused. It tried taking a step, but faltered. “What’s that?” she said. “What’s that noise?”

Eir frowned, “What are you talking about?” The camp was still, just as it had been a moment ago. 

The clone scanned the cage, but its eyes seemed distant. Eir let her grip loosen on the knife. She tucked it into the waistband of her armour, and stepped towards the clone. 

The clone shivered. 

“What is it?” Eir asked, stepping carefully, and slowly, and raising her hands towards Faolain’s clone. “What do you see out there?”

The clone’s pupils were dilated, black, empty holes. Eir brushed her fingertips over its shoulder. 

“What is it? Faolain? Can you hear me out there?”

The clone reached forwards to grab at Eir’s clothes. Its grip was iron. “What’s this?” it growled, “in the shadows, in the… vines… your dog-”

“What is it?” Eir said again, with urgency. “Is Garm there? What’s happening?”

The clone glared into Eir’s face. “It did this,” she hissed. “It led it to me, I know it!”

Eir shook her head and searched the clone’s face with her eyes. The tendons in its neck stood up and its teeth were bared. It stood that way for a few tense seconds, its eyes locked onto Eir’s. Then the clone made a wailing sound, and shattered. Pieces of it cascaded down over Eir’s arms and hands and nicked her skin. Thin lines of scarlet welled up and a few fat beads of blood rolled their way across her wrists. Eir sucked at her teeth, and grimaced. 

“Great,” she hissed. “Now what?!”


	8. The Duchess and The Direwolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garm catches up to Faolain. Mordremoth makes another calculated move.

Soon Garm smelled something acrid on the air. In the far distance, spirals of black smoke wormed their way up into the sky. He rounded a corner, and looked up. Debris from the fractured airships hung suspended from vines and lay wedged amongst the branches of the canopy. Garm ducked his head. The sound of rending metal and the screams of Pact soldiers echoed in his ears.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” a scathing voice cut through his rumination. Garm’s head snapped up, and his ears sprung to attention.

Faolain wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t think you would actually catch up with me. Go away, mutt.”

Garm whined, and his tongue lolled. Faolain grimaced.

“I thought you said you were helping?”

Garm tipped his head to one side. Faolain didn’t seen to be talking to him. Her eyes were unfocused, and she moved with short, jerky movements. His tail fell still, and the fur between his shoulders bristled.

Faolain started walking again. She looked exhausted, and watched Garm through watery eyes.

“Did she send you?”

Garm flicked an ear.

“No,” Faolain muttered, “no, she doesn’t know you’re here. She’s still trying to talk to my clone.”

Garm loped towards her, his paws picking deftly over the torn ground. 

“I said leave,” Faolain hissed, glaring at Garm. The direwolf reached the sylvari and touched his nose against her shoulder. Under the grime, he could smell something coppery and harsh. Garm tensed.

Faolain placed her hand over his snout, and shoved him away. He braced his paws against the ground and resisted. The sylvari drew a shuddering breath, and crossed her arms.

“Scram,” she spat. “Get away from me. I don’t like you, and I don’t need you here.”

Garm sunk onto his belly. He waited for Faolain to walk some way ahead. She cast a sharp glance over her shoulder at him when he shifted his paws against the ground.

After a while, Faolain said: “There must still be Pact soldiers over there.”

Garm lifted his head from his paws. Faolain was pointing towards the crashed airship.

“I can see the signal fires,” she continued. “But they’re too far away…” she paused, wiping her face with the heel of her hand. Garm whimpered, and shuffled his paws.

Faolain sucked air through her teeth, and ground the palm of her hand over her forehead. “Go catch me a rat or something,” she said with a sigh. “Go fetch me a bird.”

Garm blew air through his nose. He heard the tiredness in Faolain’s voice. It was the same tinge to her words that had starting to hang around Eir’s voice too. Garm’s ears drooped.

Faolain scuffed the ground with her foot, and flung a shower of dirt and stones at the wolf. Garm lifted his head with a yelp.

“I got dizzy is all,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “I would have come back sooner.”

Garm pressed his ears flat, and narrowed his eyes. The patch on his snout where the mud had hit him stung.

“But I wasn’t kidding. I really do need to find something to eat…”

Garm watched her.

“The dragon,” she admitted, “I’ve been led in circles by his damn voice for hours now…”

Garm whined.

“Did you meet the frog?” she asked with a wry laugh. “Perhaps not. I met her twice.” Faolain closed her eyes. Her forehead creased into a deep frown, and Garm saw the tendons in her jaw bunch up. “At least, I think it was the same one… I was so stupid to think I could trust him,” Faolain muttered. Her voice grew hard. “Eighteen minutes…” she grit her teeth, “ _ eighteen minutes?” _

Garm flicked an ear.

Faolain sighed. “They wouldn’t take me in anyway,” she said. Her voice grew thick, and her eyes filled with tears. “Even if I made it to the Pact, they’d never take me in. I’ve… I’ve a rather strong reputation-” She paused as her breath hitched in her throat.

Garm exhaled.

Faolain tutted. “Well aren’t you just a  _ wonderful  _ moral support,” she said bitterly.

Garm waited.

Faolain dried her tears. Something stirred at the back of her mind, something insidious that made the leaves in her hair stand on end. She ignored it.

“Go away, dog,” she said. “My clone is all but dead, and I have a lot still to do. Leave before something worse comes along.”

Garm stood and woofed.

“I said I don’t need your help!” Faolain kicked out again, and lost her balance. She flung out her arms, her head flung back, but did not hit the ground. As she fell, a vine broke up through the ground and looped around her waist. It set her to her feet.

Garm stared. Then he hung his head and bared his teeth.

Faolain’s eyes were wide. She moved her head slowly, and looked across at the direwolf. Garm growled.

_ Oh dear… _

“Why is it doing that?” Faolain whispered.

_ I think it’s stopped trying to help you…  _ Mordremoth laughed. His voice seemed to echo through the jungle; he made the leaves around them vibrate.

Garm snarled, his lips pulled back over glistening teeth. He darted forwards, eyes wild, and ran for Faolain.

Mordremoth twitched. Faolain felt something building in her skull. The Dragon’s attention made her veins thrum with energy, and she gasped. Mordremoth made the jungle spring to action _ ,  _ and suddenly the ground heaved.

Garm skidded to a halt, his ears pushed back against his skull. A eerie silence had fallen over the area. The air was thick, and still. Suddenly there came a grinding sound, and he was buffeted by wind. Garm looked up in time to see a sheet of metal falling from the vines above.

He bounded out of its shadow seconds before it crashed into the ground. The torn pieces of airship creaked and screeched as the vines holding them shifted and swayed. Across the clearing, Faolain cast one look at the wolf, and turned away.

_ Get going now,  _ Mordremoth said.  _ Go on, now. Still a way to go… are you sure you know the way? _

Faolain shivered. Her heart was racing, and her chest felt light. Her feet carried her swiftly towards the treeline.

“Of course,” she said. Her voice grew strong, “I know the way.”

Garm ducked his head as a vine darted towards him. He fell on his stomach, and scrabbled his paws against the heaving ground. The vine clipped the trunk of the tree next to him, and flung a spray of splintered wood into the air. The chips rained down on the jungle floor and struck Garm’s face and back. He whimpered, and licked his snout. A flock of birds wheeled overhead, screeching and chattering. Garm pushed his ears back. He could smell bruised wood and broken leaves. It stung his nose, and made him blink his eyes.

The vine pushed on, curling around the thick trunks of the trees. Garm slunk close to the ground, weaving amongst the broken branches. Another vine arched overhead, casting a deep shadow and blocking out the sky. Garm watched it warily. His ears swiveled from side to side, picking up every sound. Somewhere deep under the jungle came a low rumble.

Garm’s fur bushed up. He raised his shoulders and dipped his head and stared with burning eyes into the undergrowth. Faolain had vanished. Another vine darted down from above, driving into the dirt and sending a shockwave through his paws. He was forced to retreat back the way he had come. The fractured wing of an airship swung by, still embedded in a vine. It sent a shower of bright glass over the jungle floor, and Garm yelped as he ran over it.

He reached the undergrowth, and barrelled through the leaves. The vines chased after him, snapping the branches overhead. More birds screeched, and a pack of miniature saurians scattered like insects in torchlight. Garm ignored them, and tried to run ahead.

After a few tense minutes, he started to slow. He breathed deep, catching his breath, and snuck a glance behind him. The vines had looped up around the trees, twining together to bar the way back. They formed an impenetrable wall. Garm sighed, and licked his nose, and slunk away.

***

Faolain focused hard. In her mind’s eye, she started to make out the inside of the cage. Her clone sat close to the ground. Eir watched her with flat, dull eyes.

A spark of anger flared in Faolain’s chest.

“Eir!” she snapped, “Why is Garm here?”

Eir looked confused.

“I’m running out of time,” she snapped. “The guard, where are the guard? How many came back? How many are there?”

_ Don’t trust her for something like that… _

“My time has run out. Any window I had to get into camp unnoticed has gone…”

_ So what now?  _ The Dragon’s voice was dripping with intrigue.

Faolain ducked under a branch, and kept running. “Everything happens at once,” she muttered. “Just you watch.”

Faolain slowed. She focused on the clone, and managed to move its arms. She found the knife, still tucked away safely, and held it ready through its clothes. Eir moved in front of the clone, and knelt down, and held out her hand. Faolain barked a short laugh, and shook her head.

“Fool,” she chided. She tried to make the clone speak, but managed only a low growl. “Stupid thing,” she hissed.

Eir seemed intent on taking the knife. She was jabbing and clawing at the clone. Each time her hands struck it’s wavering form, spikes of pain spread across Faolain’s shoulders and back. Faolain grit her teeth, and came to a stop. She screwed her face into a grimace.

Mordremoth’s voice broke through the pain:  _ if you lose that clone… _

“I know,” Faolain hissed. “Shut up and let me concentrate.”  

Controlling the clone was like wading through tar. Faolain managed to get it to move its arm. She reached up to strike Eir’s face and force her away. The clone’s fingers skittered over the norn’s flesh, and Faolain’s hands exploded with pins and needles. Faolain recoiled, and lost the link with the clone. She watched as Eir retreated across the cage.

“Dammit!” Faolain yelled, raising her fists to her temples.

_ Try making a sufficient distraction now… _

Faolain drove her foot into the ground. “Shutup,” she snapped. “I’ll get it back! And as for you…” she turned her attention to Eir, “just you try getting through the vines without my help. I dare you to get through this jungle without me!”

_ Well, whatever changes your plan needs, you need to make it back to put it in motion.  _ Mordremoth’s voice took on a lilting tone, and it set her teeth on edge.

“Maybe I won’t make it back,” Faolain retorted. It seemed like The Dragon was mocking her. “Between you and this wolf-”

_ How can you say that?  _ Mordremoth’s voice seethed with mock outrage:  _ I’m helping! _

Faolain walked onwards. The pathway started to wind upwards, and she crossed a bridge cradled in the shadow of many trees. “How can I trust you?” she responded. She peered over the side of the bridge. The floor dropped away abruptly and disappeared down into a grey abyss. The bushy tops of trees waves up at her in the breeze. She pulled back, and swallowed hard. “We’re close,” she said.


End file.
